


Slayer May I

by Cohava



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Begging, F/M, I'm very late with this ficlet, It was supposed to be kinky but it became angsty whoops, Kinktober 2018, Spike feels, feels happen, on top of a grave, season 6, sex in public places, sorta - Freeform, that means in a cemetery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16221356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cohava/pseuds/Cohava
Summary: Kinktober Day #2Prompt: BeggingIt looked like it was going to be another yawn-worthy evening of patrolling (with shameful vampire sex in the offing) when a comment from Spike livened things up a little...





	Slayer May I

**Author's Note:**

> Welll, so this was supposed to be the Day #2 prompt and it's only six days late, people! Enjoy :)

“C’mon, Summers. You know you want it.”

“Dream on, Spike.”

So far, the night was going exactly like the night before, and the one before that. See vampire, stake vampire. See annoying(ly hot) vampire, ignore annoying(ly hot) vampire. Rinse and repeat. She tried not to yawn as she plunged her stake into yet another fledgeling vampire, and yanked it out fast enough so it wouldn’t dissolve with the bloodsucker. 

“Wohoo,” she said flatly, twirling the stupid piece of wood easily between her fingers. “ another stake saved by Buffy, the Resource Maximizer. Look at me, slayin’ that budget.”

“Good girls deserve a reward, pet.” Came the hopeful reply somewhere on her left. She sighed.

“Still here, Spike? You don’t have anything better to do? Rearrange your skull dècor? plot your sad, hopeless little schemes? On second thought,” she added, holding the stake closer to her face and pretending to inspect it, “I think this stake is special, you know. I think there’s something written on it. Let me see: S… P… I…”

“You’re a riot, Slayer.”

“Thanks, I do try.”

She meandered through the cemetery, squinting in the dark to catch any remaining oogie boogies lurking about. The only specimen present and accounted for was, sadly, the annoying(ly sexy) pest following her. Whom she couldn’t slay. For… reasons. 

Good reasons, she amended silently, recalling a couple of very specific, very NC-17 reasons. 

Still, it was all kind of… empty. Repetitive. Spike would buzz around her like an unusually persistent gnat, she’d push him away weakly until she caved in and they’d have a bout of highly acrobatic sex before she gathered anything left of her tattered clothes and equally tattered dignity and went home, disgusted with herself.

What a plan. 

You had to give it to Spike, though: what he lacked in the brains, fashion sense and hair care departments he more than made up for in sheer determination. He still trailed after her, unbothered by her lackluster repartee, confident that his regrettably earth-shakingly awesome cryptroom skills and her lack of anything else that made her feel more or less alive (never mind excited) would eventually wear her down. 

She tuned out his lame pick-up attempts accordingly, faintly hoping for some slightly more challenging monster to bring some fun of the clothed variety to her night. It happened frighteningly often, these days: people could talk (real people, even, she amended, feeling vaguely guilty) and she was aware of the sound but couldn’t parse it out. It just hung in the vicinity of her ears like a faint buzz, gone before she could make any sense of it. it was the only reason--the only reason--why Spike’s latest comment caught her as off guard as it did. Meaning, she stopped suddenly, twitched, turned and all pretense of ignoring him was gone.

“What?”

“I said,” he pivoted leisurely to face her head on, and looking entirely too pleased, “do… I… need… to… beg?”

She felt light-headed. 

A shiver went down her spine. A sliver of excitement lighting up what would have otherwise been another painfully depressing night.

“Maybe you do.” She hesitated. Buffy licked her lips and decided, screw it, she was going to go big ‘cause she really didn’t want to go home. 

“Yes,” she said, more firmly. “Yeah, Spike. What makes you think a vampire like you gets to touch the Slayer? The Chosen one?” She cocked a hip and stared him down. She was laying it on a little thickly, but she had a hunch he wouldn’t mind. In fact, he caught on to her immediately and started to play along.

“Why’s that, Love? Have I been bad?”

“Very.” She was suddenly breathless. “Kinda comes with the package, being a vampire and all. You know, with the biting and the killing and the… stuff.”

“But I have been good recently. Haven’t done any of that stuff. Spikey’s all muzzled up an’ playing nice.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’re still bad.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You…” He was too close, is what he was. She couldn’t think like this. Unfair.

“Y-you’re rude. Annoying. And you’re still bad.”

For a moment there it seemed like he wanted to argue some more, but then he pressed his lips together, as if reminding himself that they were playing. He smirked, once again, and sank to his knees at her feet. Oh, that’s better, Buffy though dizzyingly. 

“Very well, Your Slayerness. I have been very, very bad.”

“...And?”

“And…” He seemed to fight within himself. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them again, all the playfulness and swagger had vanished from his face. In their place there was only stark, raw honesty.

“And I’m not worthy of you. I know that. I know.”

Buffy edged closer. She was about to do something monumentally stupid, like touch his face or try to comfort him, but he started talking again and she was rooted to the spot, mesmerized.

“But I need you, Buffy. Being with you, it’s like… s’like touching a cross. Every second is painful, exquisite torture but also there’s this… pure ecstasy for every second you manage to touch it without burnin’ up. It’s twisted, I know, but I can’t get enough of you, baby. Let me touch you again. Please.” 

He swallowed and looked up at her, and for a brief, brief moment she was able to saw through him. For all his braggadocio, for all that she fell for his tricks over and over again… for all that she felt completely and wholly under his power a lot of times, and she felt that she couldn’t stop sleeping with him no matter how much she hated herself after, she was the one with all the power here. He was truly desperate for her, and even though he acted confident, he would crawl and beg and humiliate himself for her--he would do anything in his power not to let her go.

It was twisted, like he said. Like a drug. Maybe it was because he couldn’t have human blood anymore--but nonetheless, it was true. 

The epiphany vanished like smoke as soon as she grasped it, though, too much to process for her confused, bruised mind and soul. She blinked, he curled his tongue in that irritating way of his that got her blood up every single time and, suddenly, it was a game again. 

“Very well, “She sighed dramatically. “You wanna touch me? You can touch me. Here.” She planted one foot atop a flat gravestone, hiking her long skirt up just enough to reveal her ankle and the lower portion of her calf. Spike approached it gamely, kissing every inch of her exposed skin, brushing it with his long, shapely fingers. He was good: he gave her goosebumps even with that limited area to work on and she was dying for him to go further, yet when he tried to reach under the hem of her skirt she slapped his hand away. 

“Hey…”

“Spike. Ask nicely.”

“Alright. Buffy, may I--if I’m not too forward, of course--may I touch your lovely knee?” He half-mocked her, but she sensed the real urgency behind his words.

“You forgot the magic word…”

“Please, Slayer. Please!”

“You may.” She pulled the skirt up herself, keeping control of exactly how much skin she showed him. 

She kept up with their little game, gradually leaning backwards until she was laying down on the grave, skirt bunched up around her waist, and Spike was kneeling between her legs. He was panting with anticipation, close enough to her core than she could feel his breath hitting the damp spot in short bursts. It was heady. 

Slowly, he slid a finger under the hem of her underwear, running it lightly up and down her folds. He made a move to get her panties out of the way, but she grabbed the stake that she had dropped earlier at some point and aimed it at him with deadly accuracy, despite the fact that she was trembling with desire. 

He did a double take and groaned, obviously frustrated by her constant interruptions. 

“Enough’s enough, Buffy!” He roared. “Would you--please--let me eat your delectable quim already? I promise to play nice. Or not, if that’s what you’d prefer,” he added, licking his lips. She had to give him props. Even as he visibly struggled to remain in control, he was still attempting to seduce her. Good boy. 

“N-not… yet, Spike,” she stammered. Anticipating his protests, she looked him deadly in the eye.

“You’ll have to beg me for it.”


End file.
